Monday, January 19, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Speed Bumps and Mountain Peaks
I've never been one to take for granted that life will be easy. In fact, I'm quite the opposite; the person always expecting the other shoe to drop. It would be nice, now and again, if my dismal expectations did not come to pass.
I had and have no illusions that raising kids will be a picnic. Noah taught us that when he brought his edible self--and his autism--into our lives. But who would have thought that he'd turn out to be the easy one, all things considered? What to do about a teen who seems so down at times, so disengaged, so cynical? I'm forever being told how much my kids are like me, but I had reasons to be glum as a teen. My mom was a whack job and as a result, I didn't live in a happy home. Food in the fridge was an issue. Not so for my teen. If the fridge isn't always packed, the pantry is. He can have friends over without fear of having his mother embarrass them (at least most of the time). He's got more God-given ability than I would have if I lived ten lifetimes. And yet...
With our daughter, I thought we'd be managing speed bumps, but now I'm thinking more Himalayas. Every day lately seems to bring tears and fears. Tears over not having friends, over not fitting in, over not being included, over literally not being seen. And fears that it will always be so. I never wore rose-colored glasses, so I am well able to see where she might make things harder for herself, but having been a misfit myself, I ache for her. When she cries, I do too. Really. When she's at fault, I call her on it, but when she tells me how she tries to join other kids nicely, by saying things like, "Hey, what are you guys talking about?" and the response is, "None of your business!" I want to find those kids and strangle them. I want to tell them that being mean snot-asses now might make them feel powerful, but they'll peak in high school like all girls like them do, and it'll be downhill from there.
I try to tell myself that all of these things are phases, that kids change, and that circumstances do too. But it feels like we just leave one phase and enter another. And every successive phase seems harder. Even the little one pines for when things were simpler, when she was younger, in kindergarten. I feel that way too. Life was so much simpler when I was in kindergarten. Fingerpainting and sharing snacks. What more did life ask of you? And everyone was equally able to give.
I had and have no illusions that raising kids will be a picnic. Noah taught us that when he brought his edible self--and his autism--into our lives. But who would have thought that he'd turn out to be the easy one, all things considered? What to do about a teen who seems so down at times, so disengaged, so cynical? I'm forever being told how much my kids are like me, but I had reasons to be glum as a teen. My mom was a whack job and as a result, I didn't live in a happy home. Food in the fridge was an issue. Not so for my teen. If the fridge isn't always packed, the pantry is. He can have friends over without fear of having his mother embarrass them (at least most of the time). He's got more God-given ability than I would have if I lived ten lifetimes. And yet...
With our daughter, I thought we'd be managing speed bumps, but now I'm thinking more Himalayas. Every day lately seems to bring tears and fears. Tears over not having friends, over not fitting in, over not being included, over literally not being seen. And fears that it will always be so. I never wore rose-colored glasses, so I am well able to see where she might make things harder for herself, but having been a misfit myself, I ache for her. When she cries, I do too. Really. When she's at fault, I call her on it, but when she tells me how she tries to join other kids nicely, by saying things like, "Hey, what are you guys talking about?" and the response is, "None of your business!" I want to find those kids and strangle them. I want to tell them that being mean snot-asses now might make them feel powerful, but they'll peak in high school like all girls like them do, and it'll be downhill from there.
I try to tell myself that all of these things are phases, that kids change, and that circumstances do too. But it feels like we just leave one phase and enter another. And every successive phase seems harder. Even the little one pines for when things were simpler, when she was younger, in kindergarten. I feel that way too. Life was so much simpler when I was in kindergarten. Fingerpainting and sharing snacks. What more did life ask of you? And everyone was equally able to give.
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